To Wear With Honor
by Amethyst-Req
Summary: Steve finally brought Bucky home, but the rest of the world isn't as accepting of his past as Steve is. Facing life in prison, and death row, Bucky Barnes is prepared to accept his fate with no resistance. However, Steve refuses to give up, and with the help of New York's most ruthless lawyer, Blythe Ivan, can they win Bucky a new life using the court of law before time runs out?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: First CA fic, takes place about a year after CA:TWS. Interestingly enough, I got the idea for this story after seeing a particular piece of fanart. I won't post it just yet because I don't want to spoil the end, but I will when the time comes. Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel or the characters except my Russian lawyer.**

 **Chapter 1**

They found him in Dubai.

A breakthrough in the search came in the form of a coffee-colored skinned man with gold flecks for eyes who _saw_ , and could not unsee.

He sat with his back to them in an antique chair, elbows on knees and head forward. His hair was tangled, falling forward to hide his eyes from the intruders of a small rented room in a run-down apartment complex. He didn't move when they broke down the door, didn't stir when the colors of his home country filled his vision behind the curtain of his hair. He sat like he was waiting for them, still as stone.

His _stillness_ is what worried Steve the most.

"Bucky?" Steve asked tentatively, wondering which man he was kneeling in front of: the Soldier, or his best friend.

A gun was laid harmlessly on the coffee table in front of them, left there hours ago by the Winter Soldier himself.

Slowly, he lifted his head to meet the blue eyes of the man in front of him, and Steve's heart broke all over again at the ice in them. Time seemed to stand still for a heartbeat.

"I'm tired," he said, in a voice that sounded like it had been drug through gravel, like it hadn't been used in weeks. The air was thick with what had been unsaid: _Tired of running_.

Steve's eyes slipped close, his breath leaving him in the weariest sigh a man had ever let go of. He wanted to reach forward, touch the man in front of him to be sure it wasn't an apparition. He settled for nodding once silently, picking up the shield he had dropped beside him without standing.

"Let's go home, Buck."

Bucky just nodded, unsure of the meaning.

OoO

He was not welcomed back with open arms.

The media exploded, picked at him, tore him apart. Every day more and more hate mail was piled at the doors of the Tower, demanding the blood of the man who had almost brought the country to its knees. Newspapers plastered his face on the front cover of every issue, with the bold, black, ugly word "traitor" adorning the one and only photo they had of him: the mug shot the city of New York demanded after his return. Profilers had a field day with him; they pegged him as a broken man, suggesting home abuse as the catalyst that drove him mad and even went as far as dropping the "rape" word here and there as if his actions could be summed up in a simple yet detrimental traumatic event that occurred in his youth. Crowds in the dozens gathered outside of the towers, holding signs with his name slashed through, their protests against his very existence. The paparazzi slept outside in tents, waiting to catch another glimpse of the infamous Winter Soldier.

Especially when they came for him.

The Avengers knew, even if Steve would fight against it, that James Buchanan Barnes would be indicted. He would be formally charged for his crimes, all 267 and counting, and would probably lose against the US. It would be the biggest case of the century, and would last weeks if not months. His bail was posted at 3.2 million the following morning, and its numeric was delineated in every paper and internet news site.

"3.2 million? That's it?" Tony scoffed flippantly, tossing the paper onto the table in front of him. "Really, _I'm_ offended for him."

"Tony," Steve exasperated, scrubbing at his face. He had just watched his friend be _escorted_ out of the room to undergo more mug shots and finger printing (in mere handcuffs, Steve almost could have laughed) – probably the first real time Bucky has ever been in any kind of system since the 1940s. He hadn't slept in days, and not just because Bucky hadn't (he'd been pacing the living room floor on their level in the Tower for two days, his shoulders so tense Steve wondered if they would permanently turn to stone). Every aspect of Bucky screamed "caged animal", like at any moment he was going to snap and Steve would blink and he would be gone forever. So Steve stayed with him in the living room, watching him stalk across the floor like a tiger swiping at the bars of his prison.

Tony seemed to pay heed to Steve's sleep-deprived worry. He dropped down into the seat next to him at the intense, high-security FBI or whatever military base they were at (Tony would soon know, he had already instructed FRIDAY to hack into the system).

"Don't worry, 3.2 million is nothing. You guys can pay me back in cheap drinks and girls and we'll call it even," Tony fingered his phone. Even with his confident words he still kind of wished it was a drink.

"Tony, the money isn't the problem and you know it," Steve sighed, elbows on knees. "How am I going to get him out of _this_?"

"I've already taken care of it," Tony said, not looking up from his phone.

Steve's eyebrows pulled together, shortly followed by the narrowing of his eyes. "How?"

Tony, feigning offense. "I'm hurt, you think I would deliberately go behind your back to do something you would," Tony gasped, " _disapprove_ of?"

"Don't make me hurt you," Steve warned.

Tony rolled his eyes, mumblings of "old men can't take jokes" under his breath. He sat back against his chair, raising his eyes to look through the glass wall where they were seated. He found the eyes of a red head who was quietly watching them with sharp eyes, no doubt lip reading the entire conversation. He tipped his head at her, but she looked away.

Tony whipped his head back to Steve. "I know someone," he said in his Tony Tone that left little for reproach or question.

Steve never paid any attention to that tone. "Know someone?" He echoed. He perked up at the sight of Natasha and Barton heading their way, a slightly annoyed look on their faces.

"Yes, people know people, Steve. It's kind of a thing," he sighed, like he was trying to explain something to a child. But he knew this wasn't the time to test Steve's patience so he continued. "She's really good at keeping bad guys out of jail."

Steve's eyebrows furrowed. "You mean a lawyer." It was not a question.

"Trust me. You could show a jury a video with audio and everything of a man strangling a little girl and she could convince them he was innocent,"

Something about Tony's choice of words was familiar, but he let it go when on the other side, Bucky and his entourage emerged from the hall they had taken him down. His face was stone; he hadn't said a word since Steve had found him in that rundown apartment, seated like he was waiting for Steve specifically. Maybe he had been.

Steve brought his hand up to his face to scrub at it again with a deep sigh. "Let's hope you're right, Tony. Because I have a feeling there are a lot of videos." It was left unspoken what side of Bucky the videos showed.

Tony smiled with teeth. "FRIDAY, find Blythe."

OoO

"Miss Ivan! Can you please comment on today's fraud trial?"

"Ms. Blythe! Over here, please!"

"What's your stance on the Winter Soldier?"

"Miss Ivan, another win! Care to comment on your strategies?"

"Miss Ivan!"

Blythe Ivanishkov never looked up from her phone, simply twisting away from the ever present paparazzi herd crowding on the steps of the court, her rapt focus on the text message she was writing. With her lips pressed firmly in a line, she ignored the flashing lights in favor of making her way to the black car awaiting her at the bottom of the steps. A man there opened the door, the warmth of the car a welcomed relief from the bite of New York's winter.

"No comment," she murmured to herself, pausing. She threw the phone into the backseat and turned around in a flourish of a very '50s cut blond curl. With a blinding smile, she dipped her chin to look straight at the camera directly in front of her under her lashes. "No comment," she said silkily, and with a raise of her shoulder she turned and dropped into the seat. The door shut and closed her in the confines of the car, the drone of the raging paparazzi cut off abruptly.

In the quiet she resumed her text message, crossing her legs. She had much to do. The win today had gone as planned, but the case was a small fry compared to what she was representing the following week. She had press conferences to attend, dirt to dig up, a binder to sort, emails to send, people to prepare…

"That dress certainly does wonders, Blythe."

Her eyes shot up from the screen of her phone, fixing immediately on the figure seated across from her. Legs crossed with a drink in hand, Tony Stark looked at her over amber tinted sun glasses with a mischievous smile.

Her eyes immediately narrowed. She gave him a moment of her ice glare, then dropped her eyes back to her phone, continuing the email she had just started with a sigh.

"What do you want, Tony?" she asked dully. She had way too much to do today for his antics.

"Ouch, I'm hurt," he started. "I thought for sure you would be thrilled to see your favorite client—"

" _Ex_ -client." She corrected, her eyes found his again. "Or did you forget what I said last time?" When she said _last time_ she really meant _the last time_. What Tony did to get in trouble with the law was almost laughable. No lawyer in their right mind would take him, purely because they were made as scrape goats to the public. Though he paid triple her rate, she had much more serious cases to work on.

"I have a case for you," Tony said, sipping his drink while he tapped his knee.

"No," she said simply, going back to her phone.

"It'll be worth your while,"

"No."

"I'll pay ten times your rate," he offered.

A brief pause. But, "No."

"A favor for the Iron Man then. He'll owe you," Tony leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees to regard her more closely. "It's a career maker, Blythe."

Blythe closed her eyes with another sigh out of her nose. Looking up at him with an indignant look, she raised an eyebrow. "Tony," she exasperated. "I have no time right now to deal with whatever mess you got yourself into this time. Knowing you, it's nothing Iron Man can't get you out of," she was reaching into her purse, digging out a business card of one of her partners. "I know someone who can pretend to hold your hand—"

"It's not for me."

The tone of his voice stopped her rummaging. She cut her eyes to him and they quietly regarded one another. There was an edge about Tony she hadn't picked up on originally. Something about it made her want him to stop talking. But he continued anyway.

"It's _him_ , Blythe."

He didn't have to explain. She had seen what the news had been splashed in, specifically _who_ the news had been splashed with: a certain someone residing currently in the late Stark Tower. Suddenly the car was too warm. Blythe's phone hit the seat of the car with a dull thud, forgotten. She leaned back heavily.

"You don't mean…"

Tony leaned back as well. "The one and only."

Blythe didn't realize the car had started moving until she looked out the window to watch the buildings and pedestrians pass by. "Tony," she started quietly. "That's a career _breaker_." There was a faint lift of her accent, the shock of what he was asking leveling her usual poise.

Tony was quiet for a second, watching the ice in his drink he had made from her stock in the car dilute the liquor. He knew how to get Blythe to take the case, but he didn't want to force her. If Blythe was to be efficient in her job, she had to _believe_ in her client. Blythe was well connected. There was no doubt she had heard all about the Winter Soldier and James Barnes, possibly even more than the media had let on. He was sure her own contacts had provided her with information that was long deleted from the archives Natasha had leaked. He wasn't so naïve to think Blythe would ignore the monster that had shown up in her city, especially now since his life would be delving into her home turf – the courts. He also would not doubt she had been approached by the state to be a part of the representation against Mr. Barnes.

Finally, "A good man deserves good a lawyer – the best."

Blythe's eye brows shot up and her head swiveled towards him. It wasn't the comment that she was the best that struck her (that she knew very well), but rather the former part of his sentence. It seemed so out of character for Tony. Especially considering…

"Tony…" she began quietly, wondering if this was her place, but deciding _to hell with it_ if he wanted her to represent _him_. "He killed your parents."

Tony's eyes shot to hers. "You think I don't know that?" He asked sharply. "You think I haven't seen the video?" Blythe winced, but he continued. "I know what he's done, I've seen it. The Winter Soldier killed my _mom_ , Blythe. Did I want to throw him out of top window of the tower and watch him splatter into a million pieces at the bottom when he first got there? Yes. You think I didn't know I was housing my parents' killer in my _home_?" Blythe remained silent and Tony took a slow breath. There was a moment of silence while Tony composed himself and Blythe watched raptly. He rubbed at his temple.

"This is the reason, Blythe. I've _seen_ him, and let me tell you the Winter Soldier isn't a man. He's a broken shell of a person that used to be some great hero. I couldn't even stay mad at him he was so pathetic," he breathes, then continues more quietly as if to himself. "And I watch them satellite each other all day, just moping around like a pair of angry, post-pubescent teenagers." Blythe wasn't sure who "them" was, but she ignored that part in Tony's rant. It seemed he had a focus he was getting to.

"The point is this, Blythe: we got it wrong. James Barnes isn't the Winter Soldier. Or at least, he doesn't want to be anymore. But for him to have any chance of living a decently normal life after this is done and buried, he needs _you_ to fight for him in a battlefield he wouldn't stand a chance in."

The car was silent as Tony finished his spiel, downing his drink and pouring another, without ice this time. Blythe inhaled slowly, then brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose. She didn't know if it was the out of character outburst of Tony, or the creeping thrill of the hard fight she would lead to save a doomed man that had a part of her deciding against the smarter part.

"You believe he is innocent?" she asked him, eyeing him carefully.

Tony snorted. "God, no. He's as guilty as sin." Blythe frowned at him.

Tony raised a hand. "Don't get me wrong. The Winter Soldier did all of the things they said he did," he looked at her with the most sober expression she had ever seen him wear in the five years they had known each other. "But Captain America's Bucky Barnes did not."

Blythe tapped her foot, chewing on her bottom lip while she thought. The trial would take months of preparation, she would need her entire agenda to focus on this one case, and would need her complete attention. She would have to cancel all of her other commissions, bury herself in research, learn and build a case, find a way around the system in a way that left Bucky Barnes a free man.

 _Impossible_ , her mind whispered, and she couldn't help but agree. She didn't live under a rock; the Winter Soldier was the most hated man in all of the US right now, and she would be lying if she said she whole-heartedly wanted to see him walk free.

But here was a man that had been directly affected by the aftermath of the Winter Soldier. A man who had lost so much in a night, and lived a lie for over half his life, but also a man who stepped into her life and was asking her to do the impossible, for a man that had left him an orphan. If he could forgive the man underneath the puppet, then she could at least try to do the same.

Blythe took a deep breath, swiped up her phone and speed dialed her secretary without a look towards Tony.

Where there was a distinctly female answer on the other side, Blythe clipped, "Cancel the rest of my appointments, dish out all of my clients amongst the firm's partners and send all of my equipment to the Avenger's Tower."

There was a frazzled octave-higher pitched voice answering on the line, but Blythe ignored it and clicked the phone shut. She lowered it to her lap and leveled her gaze to the infamous Iron Man.

"So…about that ten times rate."

OoO

Two nights later, Blythe found herself in the same old room she stayed in last time she was bailing Tony out of an impossible lawsuit. However, calling it a room was a gross understatement, as it was more like a condo on one of the floor of the Tower. It featured two floors, openly connected by a floating staircase. The great far wall was completely glass, and gave her a spectacular view of the skyline of nighttime New York City. She leaned against a pillar, sipping a dark liquor from a rocks glass she had dug up, taking in the view. Behind her were mounds of paper, boxes that needed to be sorted, and a heavy laptop with a screen that could be a small television positioned in a circle on the floor.

"Ms. Ivanishkov, you have a guest." FRIDAY's voice chimed, her only warning before the sliding doors to the condo opened with a quiet _whoosh_ and the root of her evil sauntered in holding two cigars.

Blythe smirked, raising an eyebrow. "It is customary to celebrate _after_ the victory, Tony."

Tony splayed his arms open and looked between her and the room. "You were half the victory, Blythe. And for only ten times your rate!"

She frowned at him and took the cigar he handed to her. She knew she should have pushed her luck…

"Besides, these really _are_ for later. After the case, I mean." He pointedly looked at the box labeled 'cigarettes' on the coffee table. "I can see you had no trouble picking up that habit again anyway."

She shrugged nonchalantly. "Only when I'm on a stressful case. Or drink."

Tony eyed the table, fingering the box. "There's over twenty boxes in this carton."

She cleared her throat quietly, crossing her arms while mumbling, "I expect it to be a stressful case."

Long after Tony left, Blythe sat in the circle of papers and binders on the floor Tony had lovingly dubbed her law-gods-séance, her laptop directly in front of her. Its screen was the only light in the apartment, the brightness illuminating her face alone in the dark. It was late at night, or early in the morning; she had lost track of time, burying herself in the files Tony had given her access to on the Winter Soldier. She had poured for hours on the words in front of her, each file she opened forcing her deeper and deeper into the past of a man and country better left unseen. Her notebook left forgotten beside her, so entranced by the reports she was reading to take notes or form anything other than the strong desire to run as fast as she could out the door.

With a trembling hand, she shut the laptop. The room was bathed in darkness, and it enveloped her in a blanket of false security. Through the large glass window behind her, a faint tinge of pink bled into the night sky to signify dawn was near. She closed her eyes to its symbolism.

After a long and shaky breath, she swallowed the bile that had threatened to make a nuisance of itself and wrapped the blanket she had drug from the couch more tightly around herself, thinking of the man that dwelled in the, albeit large, nonetheless same, residence as herself.

She began to wonder, for the first time, if the case would kill more than her career.

 **A/N: Please review. Thanks!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Miss."

Blythe's gaze was fixed on a child across the street. He was squatting at the edge of the curb, his hands submerged in a clump of dirty snow left by the previous week's cold front. He seemed to be looking for something, but she could not be sure this far away.

"Miss."

Suddenly the boy stood and in a haphazard motion, chucked a rolled ball of snow at the pant leg of a man standing a few feet away from him. Blythe's eyebrow quirked, but the man turned like it was the most normal thing in the world and beckoned the boy to him with face that couldn't be less amused. The boy however had a grin so wide she could see all his teeth, and as he walked to the side of the man, hands shoved in pockets, she noticed it widen when the tall man patted the boy's head affectionately.

"Miss!"

Blythe's eyes snapped to the barista holding a steaming to-go cup of coffee in front of her. Sheepishly she realized the cup was hers and took it from the girl quickly with an embarrassed smile. "Sorry, long day," she confided.

"It's nine in the morning."

Blythe coughed. " _Going_ to be a long day, then."

The barista gave her an amused smile. "In that case, good luck."

New York City was as busy on the ground as ever, but Blythe had decided anyway coffee would taste better outside the Tower than in. She had been there a little over a week, and felt it was more than past due for some fresh air; as fresh as Manhattan air could get anyway.

But when the next gust of wind cut through her jacket, she sighed short and quietly, a puff of white encapsulating her mouth. Perhaps venturing outside in the dead of winter hadn't been her best plan of the day. At the first sip though of the homemade coffee found only in a small hole-in-the-wall café located over a dozen blocks from 200 Park Avenue, it was easy to cast aside all thoughts of regret.

"Oh, sweet heavenly mercy, you art thou…" she preened, cuddling the cup to her chest in a vain hope to steal some of its warmth. She picked up her gait back to the Tower, a little warmer and a little more willing to face the day with her favorite coffee in hand, but not entirely eager. There was not enough favorite coffee in the world, nor enough cigarettes for that matter, to make her eager for what Tony had planned that day.

Because today was the day she met her client. The _real_ client.

No, not nearly enough cigarettes.

Though it was a bit of a walk to the Tower from where she was, she sadistically refused to call a cab. Something about the cold biting against her senses kept her nerves at bay, and the walking, she hoped, would calm the fine tremor she had going through her fingers. She had anticipation curled tightly in her belly, that had everything to do with adrenaline and nothing to do with fear.

The week had flown by, in a blink, and she barely remembered anything but an open laptop and a forgotten notebook. She suspected she was only done with the superficial files, a kind of baby-pool of the sort, and Tony would soon dump a whole different course of awful onto her plate regarding the Winter Soldier soon enough. But what she had made through from what she had been given, had sown a seed so small she hadn't noticed until she was doodling a tree on her pantleg with the tip of her pencil, metaphorically of course.

No, the shakiness of her hands and the burning in her chest weren't fear or apprehension of meeting Hydra's most infamous – but quite heavily buried and guarded, she gathered – assassin. It was the fact that with the establishment of her research, she had the beginnings of an idea. An idea that might mean salvation to one James Buchanan Barnes.

But she had to meet him first.

OoO

Within the hour she had returned to the Tower, reached her rooms and turned on the television. The quiet drone followed her around as she gathered her haphazardly written notes from around the living room, organizing them via importance in a binder she deemed would be public to the Avengers.

The Avengers.

Blythe paused in her movements to glance outside the large window of her apartment.

She had never met any of the Avengers save Tony and the Black Widow. Tony she had known for years, even before he became an Avenger, but the Black Widow she had only met because she had been posing as a secretary for a time with Stark, so she wasn't sure that counted. His supposed dooms-day team had never given her pause, but now that she was, by all means, living in their home for the time being, she wondered what they were like.

In her line of business, you never wanted to meet your heroes.

With a dismissive shake of her head, she returned to sorting the files she wanted to spend a little more time on before going to the team and the ones she had written finished notes for. In color coded sticky notes, she highlighted her questions, her theories, and most importantly, her strategy. Though she wanted to feel proud of her work, these measly notes tackled less than half a dozen of the cases against James Barnes. Not for the first time, she pinched the bridge of her nose and contemplated her actions and how she ended up with such an impossible case.

"Good morning, sunshine. You are looking like you had a fight with a demigod and lost."

She slowly lowered her hand from her face, turning ice gray eyes onto the very bane of her existence, and consequently the reason to all her foreboding feelings.

Tony Stark sauntered into her rooms with a positive flourish that left her feeling drab and already tired of the day. Beneath his happy-go-lucky smile there was an edge that could cut glass, the only indication he hadn't forgotten his words the previous evening.

 _"_ _Blythe."_

 _"_ _Yes?" She was struggling to reach a mixing bowl on the top shelf. Regardless of how much work she had, Blythe was never one to forget a meal._

 _"_ _Capsicle finally agreed to you meeting the One-Armed-Wonder."_

 _Blythe grasped the bowl, having crawled onto the countertop, but refused to admit Tony's words momentarily caught her off guard. She dropped down from the counter top, placing the bowl onto the granite with a sharp tap and faced him. He sat at the breakfast bar, chin balanced in a palm as he regarded her._

 _"_ _I see," she remarked, copying his calm demeanor. She picked up the measuring cup and filled it with water. "What made Mr. Rogers change his mind? He was pretty adamant that Mr. Barnes wasn't ready for any more new company."_

 _Tony scoffed through his nose. "Everyone he meets is new company. Guy can't remember if he likes coffee or tea."_

 _Blythe had a moment of sincere apathy for the man right then._

 _"_ _Regardless, Mr. Rogers made it seem like I was the last person he wanted to introduce him to," she rebutted, flaking out some baking sheets with bread crumbs._

 _Tony could only shrug, plucking a bread crumb from her sheet. She swatted his hand away._

 _"_ _He asked to meet you."_

Blythe still wasn't sure if she was thinking back on those words because they invigorated her or terrified her. It both made her want to be everything Mr. Barnes hoped she was, and at the same time never be on the radar of a man that was as chilling as his namesake.

With a word of pause to Tony, she scurried into her bedroom towards the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. A quick hair brushing, a swipe of lipstick, and a silent pep-talk to her reflection was all she needed. She didn't even have to pinch her cheeks, the cold having bit some color into them earlier.

Returning to the kitchen, she stuffed the binder under her arm, and nodded at Tony.

"Let's go."

OoO

The elevator ride from the floor she resided on was mostly quiet. She knew, as did most of the public, that the Avengers occupied the top ten or so floors of the Tower. They were off-limits to any personnel in the Tower that weren't Avengers (or their associated counterparts, Tony told her, whatever that meant), but her first day she had been given access. She discovered it one morning when stepping into the elevator alone, every button lit up rather than only the first eighty. Curiously, she pressed the top one to see if FRIDAY would halt her excursion but when the doors opened on what seemed like a communal room at the very top, she was surprised. Not knowing was she was expecting, she quickly pressed her own floor's level and continued to press the close door button until safely tucked away into the elevator again, fearing someone would walk around the corner and discover her intrusion.

But now, standing quietly beside Tony, the elevator doors opened again to the top floor and she was greeted with the familiar sight of the communal floor.

Only this time, it wasn't empty.

And it was a wreck.

"Достаточно!"

The Black Widow herself came flying through the air, crashing into the back of a white loveseat, woman and couch flipping over and rolling across the floor in a tousled heap. She rolled to her feet with an elegance Blythe couldn't even hope to recreate. The couch did not.

"Hm, might have come at a bad time," Tony reflected thoughtfully, completely unaffected by the violent greeting. Blythe on the other hand, had pressed her back into the recently shut doors of the elevator, awkwardly trying to swipe the down button Tony was blocking. He gave her a sideways glance.

"Chicken."

She gave him an alarmed expression, waving her hand in the general direction of the living room with a look that said, _Are you kidding me?_

He scoffed, "Please, this is a good day if he's only throwing people around the room. Day one he threw Capsicle out the window." Tony walked further into the room, leaving Blythe looking at his retreating back with a look of growing trepidation. She made a mental note to stay away from the window.

Steve Rogers came jogging into the room from the corridor the Widow had emerged (albeit in the air) from. He was sporting a nasty bruise across his left cheek. He slowed to a stop when he noticed Tony and Blythe.

"This, ah," he started, perhaps thought better and finished with, "This isn't a good time."

"Good a time as any, Cap." Tony had maneuvered himself behind the bar. It did not go unnoticed to Blythe he was pouring two glasses of scotch. She was just beginning to hope one was for her when a dark mass moved into the room, following on the heels of Steve.

Blythe wondered if James "Bucky" Barnes would live up to everything his name meant and more. She wondered if maybe the room would chill upon his entrance, or if she would feel like prey caught in a trap the first time his eyes met hers. She toyed with the idea that he would be scarred, inside and out, the man in the old films and Smithsonian exhibit long gone from behind cold eyes and longer hair. She suspected that when they first met, the terror he would instill would be enough to drop the ten times rate, Tony be damned, and run for the hills.

But when the man known only as the Winter Soldier for so long walked into the room with a feline grace she would have thought belonged to a dancer and not an assassin, she realized he was just that: a man.

The room temperature remained the same, his eyes flicked over her for the briefest of seconds before dismissing her completely, and though his hair was longer it was pulled back from his face, giving Blythe a good look at the face of her client she, begrudgingly, admitted to herself wasn't just unblemished but not bad to look at.

If, of course, he hadn't contorted it into a vicious snarl.

"Оставь меня в покое, женщина." _Leave me alone, woman._

It took Blythe a second to realize he wasn't talking to her. Her eyes swiveled to the woman slowly standing from her crouch, her eyes narrowed but her hands raised in a non-threatening way.

The redhead hissed, "Убирайся с головы." _Get out of your own head._

"You know, it's really unfair when you guys don't speak so all the kids can understand," Tony exasperated, dropping an ice cube into his drink. "FRIDAY, translate for daddy, would you?"

Blythe accepted the drink he offered her with a sigh. "No need, just a lover's quarrel," she told him.

The man's cold blue eyes snapped to her form, but she pointedly ignored him in favor of small-talking with Tony while him and the Widow worked out whatever was on their chests.

"She basically just told him to get his head out of his ass," Blythe smirked into her glass, feeling a little high on the subsiding adrenaline in her veins. Tony grinned.

"You can see why I put them all in the same building."

Blythe took in the guarded stance of the Soldier, the poise of the Widow, and the frayed-around-the-edges look in Captain America's demeanor. She put her empty glass down.

"I'm sure there is never a boring day."

On cue, a dark blonde-haired man dropped from the ceiling vent, took in the haphazard state of the large room, and glanced between the occupants of the room.

"What'd I miss?"

OoO

Blythe had decided early on that Clint Barton was the sanest of the Avengers. A farmer, with no special powers, just really good at shooting arrows and falling jumping from extreme heights and not dying. But as she watched him perch on the back of the overturned loveseat, a bag of chips in hand, and watch the scene before him with the giddiest expression she had ever seen a grown man wear, she took her assessment of him all back and shuffled him to the bottom of the sane bucket.

"Okay kids, we all know why we are gathered here today," started Tony, who was seated at the head of the long table positioned in the middle of the room before the large glass windows that, much like her own room, replaced the entire back wall of the suite. She sat to his left two seats down, her binder unopened but in front of her. Steve was positioned across from her, and Natasha the next over from him.

The man in question did not sit, but stood rather, probably as far away from the table as he could without leaving the vicinity of the communal living room.

It had been pretty silent since they had mustered enough order to migrate to the table. The individuals present were either looking at everyone or at no one at all.

Steve's gaze kept straying over to James' leaning form, as if any moment he might look again and find him gone. James avoided looking at anyone but out the window. Natasha sat quietly, regarding Blythe with a look that didn't feel all that unwelcoming, but not like she was going to suggest braiding each other's hair anytime ever.

Blythe, on the other hand, visibly looked Bucky up and down once, then pointedly turned her attention away to regard Steve.

 _I_ , she thought, _will not play this game._

"I would like to speak with my client alone."

Steve's attention snapped to hers. "Miss Ivan, I don't think—"

She rose a had to stop his onslaught. She sighed, putting an elbow on the table and looking at him plainly.

"Let me give it to you straight, Mr. Rogers,"

"Steve," he interjected quietly, but she continued like he hadn't spoken.

"Your friend is facing life in prison, more than likely, death row. I'm going to be honest with you, it's going to take a miracle to get him anything short of meeting an electric chair again." She paused for a moment to let that sink in. Steve visibly winced, sitting back in his chair deflated. In the corner of her eye, Bucky had shifted but otherwise gave no indication he was listening. She continued, a little more gently, "If I am going to be of any use to him, to your friend, I need two things." Her eyes flicked to Bucky's form and back to Steve. "From both of you."

Steve was already nodding. "Anything."

Blythe ticked off her fingers with each request. "First, honesty. I can't help you if I don't know everything. Absolutely _everything_ ," she stressed. "The bad, the awful, the gory, the terrible, the evil. If we get blindsided by something in the courts and I don't have a defense, we are fucked."

Bucky's eyes briefly flicked to hers, but he remained silent.

"Secondly," she ticked off another finger, "and this might be hard for you at least one of you, but you're going to have to trust me." Blythe's eyes hit the table in front of her for the briefest of moments, and for a second Bucky caught the slip of something deeper than what the brash woman was showing them. "My methods are let's say, a little unconventional at times—" a snort from Tony, "—but I'll need you to trust that I have a plan. And not fuck it up," she finished with a flat look toward Bucky. He returned her flat look with his own and said nothing.

She turned back to Steve. "So, with all that said, I would like to speak with Mr. Barnes alone for a moment."

OoO

It took all of ten minutes to clear the room. You would think a team that fought off aliens and such would move a little faster but by the time she had finally convinced Steve to wait outside she had the strongest premonition it was very akin to herding cats. With a sigh and a promise, to Bucky or her she wasn't sure, that he was right outside in the other room, Steve finally left the suite. She had no delusions that he wasn't listening to every world from the other room.

When the door clicked shut, Blythe stifled a sigh and returned to her chair at the table, where she had opened a blank notebook page. James stayed in his pseudo-relaxed position by the window, flesh shoulder leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. He made an intimidating figure, she could give him that.

For a moment, she put her chin in her hands and watched him watch the outside. His shoulders were tense, his expression stony. She let them sit in silence for a moment, but Blythe was never one who could keep quiet for long. She threw the first line.

"Do you prefer Mr. Barnes, James, or Bucky?" she asked politely.

He remained stoic, ignoring her. He shifted further away from her, and she imagined he would sink into the wall if he could. The man in front of her reminded her strongly of a caged animal backed into a corner.

Blythe was overcome with a memory long since forgotten. She was eleven, in the Virginian woods of Farnham. It was the early morning of December, and she and her father were hunting for white-tailed deer. A mile in they came across a stammered trail that led to a wounded coyote, caught in a bear trap they hadn't set. All she remembers of that event were the coyote's eyes, terrified and vicious all at the same time.

 _A trapped animal is a dangerous animal, Blythe_. Her father's words echoed in her memory, and she chose her next approach more carefully.

"Вы предпочитаете говорить по-русски?" she asked quietly. _Do you prefer we speak Russian?_

"нет," he said sharply. Remembering himself, he reaffirmed in the same sharp tone, "No."

Blythe was no psychologist, but she was getting the sense that this man was going to be difficult to get to open up, let alone be honest with her. _Oh, what gave you that idea, Blythe?_ She thought to herself flatly. She tried a different approach.

"I'm sure you know my name, but for introductory sakes it's Blythe Ivanishkov, Ivan for short. I'm sure you could probably guess from the name that my father's side of the family is Russian. He taught me the language and never lost his accent, so some of that rubbed off on me."

"I didn't ask," he stated, irritation coating every word.

She sighed, long and loud, and rubbed her temples. "Listen, Bucky, Barnes, James, whatever. I can't help you if you don't help me," she started but he cut her off.

"I don't want your help." The gravel in his voice was back, like it hadn't been used much for a very long time.

Blythe regarded him quietly, not at all shocked at having her suspicions confirmed. She had a feeling that was what the redhead and he had been arguing about before Tony and she had arrived. With this out in the open now, she tailored her tactic dramatically.

"I can understand that," she said simply, shrugging and leaning back into her chair.

Bucky regarded her with a look akin to skepticism.

The look on that face made her smile, but she forced it away before speaking. "I can't imagine what you're going through."

He looked away from her, gaze finding the window again.

"But you can't get the bastards that did this to you from the grave."

His gaze sharply found hers. " _What?_ "

His sudden change in demeanor was the air of caution Blythe should have heeded, but she disregarded it in favor of following the string she had just found and tugged – hard.

"Do I have to spell it out for you?" she asked, her tone aggressive. She leaned forward, elbows on table, hands clasped. "Hydra is still out there, right? Crawled into their holes since DC, I'd say. But not gone, no. So, Mr. Barnes, let me ask you this," she drug her fingers across the table in wide circles. "When you're six feet under after getting good ol' Uncle Sam's lethal dose, what will happen when they come up for air?" She tilted her head at him thoughtfully, "Do they scare you so badly you would rather be dead than encounter them again?"

The hair on the back of her neck rose and suddenly she was standing, only because it was a reaction to him crossing the room so fast she felt the air move. He closed the distance between them so suddenly if she had blinked she would have missed it. But all too soon he was so close to her she could see the flecks of darker blue in his ice colored eyes.

She met them with her own gray ones, and the saying 'looking death in the face' was not lost on her. But if she was going to get anywhere with this client, this man, she knew she could not back down.

He was breathing harshly, but said nothing. She glared right back up at him and opened her mouth again for the onslaught. "I won't coddle you, Mr. Barnes. I won't tell you everything is all right, and I certainly won't tell you have nothing to worry about." She dropped her voice down to a near whisper. "Because believe me, you have so much more left to lose than you think. Look around you Barnes, this is happening whether you fight it or not. The jury is being selected, the prosecutors are mobilizing, the judge is being chosen. This is happening, and you have two choices. You can sit in your room, in a dark corner, and shut everything and everyone out because you think on some fucked up level of your psych you deserve whatever is coming to you, or you can open your trap, put away your brooding underwear and fight this with me, with Steve, with the whole goddamn Avenger team because let me lay it down straight for you, the Winter Soldier might be Bucky Barnes, but _Bucky Barnes isn't the Winter Soldier_ and if you take this laying down you are the biggest coward I have ever had the displeasure of meeting and Hydra wins," there was a glint in her eyes that rivaled the ice in his own. "And I know you, at the very least, do not want that."

James Buchanan Barnes seethed at her silently for all of a handful of seconds before turning and stalking out of the room.

OoO

 **A/N: Woooowww, woo done with that chapter! I always find meetings difficult to write because it's the introduction of characters you have to write without losing their characteristics. Thanks so much for all the love and praise you guys have left me so far! I have a full outline for this story so the ball is really gonna start rolling now. Stay tuned!**

 **As always, please review!**

 **-Amethyst**


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